


Home

by 796116311389



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Tender Sex, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: "Sometimes I think about you.Romantically.Sexually."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will have three parts. Part 2 is the talking bit, Part 3 is where the E rating is needed. 
> 
> Edit: I WAS WRONG. Part three needs no E though it definitely ups the ante. Also so going to be longer then 3 parts lol. Idk what I was thinking.

"Sometimes I think about you."

John looks up startled.

They're sitting across from each other in their respective chairs; John reading and Sherlock staring quietly into the fire set up before them.

It's been quiet the last few days. John suspects something will come up soon; it's been snowing nonstop since yesterday evening and people in close quarters are dangerous.

As evidenced by Sherlock's statement a moment ago, apropos of nothing.

But it is Sherlock, so perhaps he didn't mean it the way John heard it. He can be dense like that sometimes. John decides to respond with levity.

"I would appreciate it if sometimes you would think of the dishes."

Sherlock looks up at that and furrows his brow.

 _'Ah'_ John thinks to himself, _'He's serious.'_

John can feel his pulse pick up. He's been studiously avoiding this conversation ever since they moved back in together. He suspected that there was something building between them, something reminiscent of those final months before Sherlock 'killed' himself and left John for three years.

But.

Sherlock said he doesn't feel things like that and John suspects that whatever it is growing between them is more instinctual on Sherlock's part and less a deliberate choice. More a response to the increasing fondness John has been directing his way. Mirror neurons and all that.

However, John can't help himself.

The increased touches. The small shared smiles. God, some days John can't help but stare at Sherlock, just so damn happy he's back and more so that he chooses to cohabitate with John.

John stiffens his spine, puts his book down, and resigns himself to Sherlock explaining how he's realised John's affections and he needs John to tone it down. That it's impeding his ability to think or whatever.

John focuses on Sherlock's face and feels a familiar swoop of affection at Sherlock's currently perplexed look.

"Why on earth would I think about the dishes?"

John smiles tightly, "Nevermind. How do you mean you think about me sometimes?"

Sherlock sinks back into his chair, frowns and looks away from John. "I mean romantically."

"Romantically?"

John watches in amazement as he witnesses something his never seen before: an embarrassed Sherlock.

Sherlock's face turns a cherry red high on his cheeks as he whispers to the floor, "Sexually."

John is caught off guard. He wasn't expecting Sherlock to actually elaborate on his thoughts of John and certainly he had never expected Sherlock to admit to thinking about him _sexually._

After all, it's just transport to him, isn't it?

"Oh." Really, it's the only response John can manage. This is unchartered territory, outside the normal bounds of their conversations.

Sherlock swallows and John watches, waits, but Sherlock's words seem to have dried up. Sherlock looks at him and John's heart breaks a little at how young and lost Sherlock looks.

John swallows and feels his throat constrict drily. It appears his words are dry too, but he's a soldier and where Sherlock can't press forward, he will.

He takes a deep breath, "I've thought about you too."

This seems to spring a small well in Sherlock. "You have?" he whispers.

John nods. "Romantically. Sexually."

Mirrors.

Sherlock clasps his hands together and looks down at them, "I-I don't know what to do next," he laughs wryly.

John gives a small smile, "Neither do I, really."

Both of them sit quietly for a few minutes. The conversation will unravel itself in due time.

Their conversations always have.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took forever with this. I hope it lives up to expectations.

"I'll make us tea."

John watches as Sherlock gets up and escapes to the kitchen.

John doesn't follow.

They both need the moment to decide how the conversation will go from here. They've both admitted their big secret. Now it's all a matter of logistics, so to speak.

Where they're going to go from here.

John hopes it's a good thing they're headed towards.

Sherlock comes back into the sitting room with a full tray, complete with biscuits.

John sees it for what it is. Sherlock is nervous and he's falling back into habits. Posh habits for keeping a stiff upper lip.

John watches as Sherlock places two sugars into his tea and stirs slowly.

"Thank you."

Sherlock gives him a tight smile and takes a sip of his tea. "We're English, John. Can't have a serious talk without tea."

John let's out a bark of laughter at that, "I suppose we can't."

John picks up his tea and stares into it's murky depths. No help from the tea leaves for this. He's on his own.

Or rather, they're in this together.

"You know. I wasn't actually hitting on you that first night." John sets his tea down without taking a sip.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, "Really?"

"Well, not consciously. I mean looking back on it," John leans back in his chair and scratches at his chin idly, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, "I suppose I was attracted to you, physically. You've always been handsome to me. Beautiful even, sometimes. But, that night, I hadn't been saved by you yet. Going along with you, to a crime scene and then dinner, at that point, it was all still a bit of a lark to me. So, no, really, I hadn't been asking you out."

Sherlock listens to him with a placid look, sipping his tea. He waits until John finishes what he has to say before setting his tea down and responding, "Then when did you know? When did you want...?" He trails off before finishing firmly, "When did you want?"

John wrinkles his forehead and quirks his lips into a half smile, "Want? For a fairly long time, but I didn't really consciously acknowledge it until..." John coughs awkwardly and continues roughly, "Until you. Um. Died." He looks down at his hands and frowns.

It still hurts to think about that period of time. He's long since forgiven Sherlock. He knows it was necessary, but it still hurts.

His grief was real, even if Sherlock's death was not.

"John?"

John jerks his head up and sees Sherlock watching him intently, worriedly. "Sorry. It. It still hurts to think about that time." He takes a deep breath and smiles sadly, softly, "We're past that though. Let's not dwell on it. How about you? When did you know you wanted, um, me?"

Sherlock gives him an inscrutable look, then takes a deep breath, "I've always wanted you John. I just didn't realise for a long time all the different ways I wanted you were really the same. I wanted you to move in. I wanted you to like me. I wanted your attention. I wanted your presence. Then, like you, when I no longer had it, I realised exactly what kind of wanting it was."

"What kind of wanting is that?"

"I realised I wanted your love."

John's smile starts small and then grows until he's grinning. His heart is racing, but he feels so light.

"Me too."

"That's. That's very good." Sherlock blushes again. "I also realised I wanted all the affections that come with it."

"What kind of, um, 'affections?"

"I wanted to hold your hand. I know it sounds so simple, but. I." Sherlock swallows tightly. "When I...died. The last thing I did was hold your hand before they took me away and I just wanted to feel your hand again, warm and in mine."

John scoots forward in his chair and grabs Sherlock's hands.

"John?"

John looks down at his smaller hands in Sherlock's larger ones. He grips Sherlock's hands tightly and looks up into Sherlock's face, meets Sherlock's eyes with his own moist ones, and watches as Sherlock gives him the biggest smile he's ever seen before whispering, "Thank you."

John smiles back at him, "I've wanted to hold your hands too."

They sit there quietly, looking into each other's faces. John revels in the closeness of Sherlock. He knows what he wants next.

"Can I tell you of an affection I've wanted to share with you for a long time now?"

Sherlock makes a questioning hum before nodding his head for John to continue.

"I've wanted to kiss you. But not just on the lips. I've wanted to share with you forehead kisses and nose kisses. And kisses on the back of your neck where that little patch of skin is exposed between your collar and hair when you're bent over your microscope."

Sherlock chuckles and raises both eyebrows at John. "That's awfully specific. Thought of it much?"

John gives a short laugh of his own, licks his lips, and bites his lower one slowly, "Only a few thousand times. Give or take."

John can feel that they're slowly moving towards each other. They're almost close enough to kiss.

Sherlock lowers his voice, "John? Would you be amiable to a kiss, on the lips, right now?"

John can feel the breath of Sherlock's question across his face. His gaze drifts down to Sherlock's lips and then slowly back up to his eyes. 

"I believe I am."


	3. Chapter 3

They lean in together and it feels like a revelation.

An answer to a prayer he hadn't known he'd made. John's lips meet Sherlock's and he's shocked at how soft they are, cool and dry beneath his.

This is their first kiss and it is so gentle.

John's eyes are closed as he pulls back from Sherlock's face. He feels like his heart is cracking open as it beats an erratic tattoo against his ribs. The kiss was so sweet, so tender, he feels his face tighten as if he's eaten a sour candy.

It's almost a physical pain, the love between them.

John opens his eyes slowly and feels his chest tighten at the look on Sherlock's face. He's never seen him look so unsure before.

He watches as Sherlock bites his lower lip and then whispers carefully, "That was okay, yes?"

"Yes. God, Sherlock, yes." John can't put into words how perfect this moment is to him. He doesn't have Sherlock's mind palace, but he knows that he will never forget a second of this. It is crystallized in his mind.

John is rewarded with his answer by Sherlock's face slowly shifting from uncertainty to a cautious joy. Sherlock ducks his head, but John can see the blush reaching the tips of his ears. John squeezes Sherlock's hands in his and gently questions, "Sherlock?"

"I truly never thought I could be this happy John. When I brought all this up earlier, I was prepared for you to walk out. To run away. To leave. I told myself that the best outcome I could hope for was you just saying it was 'all fine' again and dismissing the subject. I didn't want to hope for more. I couldn't." Sherlock looks up at John, his eyes piercing in that way of his and yet softened by the glassiness of unshed tears, "But as always, you surprise me John Watson. In the best of ways."

John feels a need to hold Sherlock and so he gives in. He slides from his chair to his knees, slides his hands up Sherlock's arms and around Sherlock. He tucks his face into Sherlock's neck and breathes in the smell of him. The odor of slightly sweaty skin and home.

Sherlock smells like coming home to him.

He feels Sherlock's hands encircle around his torso to his back and clasp behind him. Sherlock's face is pressed to the side of his head and he can feel little puffs of breath tickling his ear.

Sherlock gives a great sigh and John feels it as Sherlock melts into him. All the tension leaves his body and he leans into John as if John was the whole world.

They embrace each other tightly and John never wants to let go of him.

After a while John's knees begin to hurt and he shifts and they both separate slightly; John to lean back on his calves and Sherlock to lean back slightly in his chair. They don't let go of each other though, their hands are clasped once again.

John stands and notes the time. It's late and they've unravelled a lot. Honestly, he's exhausted. He looks back to Sherlock and Sherlock smiles.

"I can hear you thinking and, yes, I'm rather exhausted at this point too. Shall we head to bed? We can continue this in the morning?"

John knows Sherlock meant to say the last bit decisively, but has betrayed himself by trailing at the end like a question. John's heart aches to have Sherlock still so convinced that John will revoke this at any moment, as if John had the power to stop himself from loving Sherlock.

John knows that he can't bear to be separated from Sherlock right now and so he blurts out without thinking, "I want to sleep with you tonight."

Sherlock turns the darkest shade of red John's seen yet and starts blinking rapidly, his mouth falling open, clearly speechless.

John is confused by Sherlock's reaction for a full second before he replays what he said in his head and feels himself blushing hard, "Ah! No, I didn't mean that. I mean I would like to. Eventually. But-uh-,I mean-" he's floundering for the right words, absolutely lost in his mortification at how rude he just sounded.

His floundering is stopped in it's tracks however when Sherlock stands and soundly kisses him again. This kiss is much less chaste, though still tender.

John thinks about the two of them standing there. Red faced from blushing, absolutely ecstatic at the turn of events, and completely ridiculously in love. So much so he's gone completely stupid with it.

After a couple of moments kissing silently, enjoying the intimate press of each other, they separate.

John let's go of one of Sherlock's hands and reaches up to caress Sherlock's face. "Let me try to say that again. Sherlock, if you're okay with it, I would very much like to sleep in the same room as you tonight. I don't think I could bear to be separated from you."

"I would be delighted to share my bed with you tonight." Sherlock says this with an exgerrated posh tone, before continuing much more sincerely, " I'd much rather have you near as well."

John drops his hand from Sherlock's face and gently pulls Sherlock's hand to lead him to Sherlock's own bedroom.

"Shall we then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad. This has gotten away from me and now it's going to be more chapters. 
> 
> But you really aren't complaining are you?  
> ಠ‿↼


	4. Chapter 4

They've brushed their teeth and performed their evening ablutions. 

John is halfway up the stairs to his room to fetch some pajamas when it really hits him. 

He's going to be sleeping in the same room, hell, the same bed as Sherlock. The man he has secretly loved from afar, the bravest man he's ever known especially after the leap of faith he took only just a few hours ago. 

John can't begin to fathom the depth of courage that took. Lord knows he would have kept tumbling along, pining, never saying a word for fear of losing what little they had. 

He pulls the drawer of his dresser open, grabs some clean pajamas and slips them on. He looks into his mirror and frowns at what he sees. 

He's old and so tired looking. His face isn't fresh and youthful anymore. His body is dense, a combination of leftover muscle and Mrs. Hudson's leftover cakes. He isn't lithe and gorgeous like Sherlock. 

He's plain. 

He hears a noise at the bottom of the stairs. 

"John?" 

But. 

Sherlock said he thinks about him. 

Romantically _and sexually._

Which means Sherlock must like something about him. Must find some part of him attractive. He takes a deep breath and wills the nervous butterflies in his stomach to calm down.

"I'm coming, just a moment."

He looks in the mirror one last time before turning around, flicking off his lamp, and heading down the stairs.

The only lights in the flat are the kitchen overhead and Sherlock's bedroom. John heads down the hall and into Sherlock's room. 

Sherlock is already in bed, tucked up to his chin on the far side from the door. 

John smiles at the sight and Sherlock smiles back at him. 

He climbs into the bed and lies ramrod straight unsure of how much contact is allows in this new intimate setting. 

They lie like that, just breathing, for a few minutes, until John looks over at Sherlock and quietly asks, "How did you know I'd prefer to sleep on the left?" 

Sherlock let's out a huff of laughter clearly expecting a different statement or question and John can see him relaxing into the mattress. 

"You were a soldier John. I put you closest to the points of egress, as well as between potential attackers and someone you'd like to protect. Paradoxically, you'll sleep better."

"Brilliant." John smiles at Sherlock and is pleased to see the return of the blush on Sherlock's cheeks. He reaches up a hand from under the covers to touch the pink skin high on Sherlock's cheekbones. "Are you going to blush everytime I compliment you now?"

Sherlock ducks his face into the covers so the only thing visible is his eyes, the tips of his ears and his hair, "No." 

John smiles at Sherlock's petulant answer. 

"Because I didn't think it was possible for you to be even more beautiful than you are, but that blush does it. It makes me want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?"

John watches pleased as his words cause Sherlock's blush to turn the tips of his ears pink. 

Sherlock lowers the blankets and whispers, "Yes. Kiss me."

John scoots closer and braces his weight with his right arm between them. He's careful not to touch Sherlock anywhere else. He leans in and kisses Sherlock's blush on his cheeks before trailing kisses down to Sherlock's plush lips. 

They kiss languidly. Exploring each other's mouths, nipping at each other's lips. 

John feels Sherlock shift and then the tentative touch of his hand on his waist. He can feel the heat of Sherlock's hand through his sleeping shirt. It's a warm comforting feeling. 

They stop kissing, but Sherlock keeps his hand on John's waist. They stare into each other's eyes. 

John loves Sherlock's eyes. They're never one color; he's almost positive they change colour with Sherlock's moods. He's never had the opportunity to look this closely or for this long. They seem almost lit from behind. It's a fanciful thought, but he's almost positive he can see Sherlock's soul. He smiles at Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiles back, licks his lips, takes a deep breath and says in a quiet voice, "You're beautiful too, you know."

John makes an involuntary gasp. He just isn't used to compliments like that. There was a time when he was younger that he may have received a 'handsome', but that was a long time ago and certainly no one ever told him he was beautiful. 

Sherlock's eyes are trailing over John's face rapidly, "You seem really shocked by that."

"I am. I'm not...I don't consider myself fitting the definition of beautiful." 

"You are beautiful. Some people equate youth with beauty, but that's not what I find beautiful. I find the way your skin moves over your muscles, the expressions you effortlessly convey, the way you control yourself... All of those things make you beautiful John. You are efficient and human and messy in all the right ways."

"I love you." John's eyes go wide. He hadn't quite meant to say it so simply, but he did and he does love Sherlock. "I didn't mean to say that so bluntly."

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course I do. I love you, you brilliant man." John watches as Sherlock's mouth does a funny wiggle, like he can't decide whether to smile or cry. 

"John, I love you." Sherlock leans forward and kisses John soundly on the mouth. The kiss is passionate, but he quickly leans back, "Also, we're idiots."

And like that they're both laughing. Completely and fully shaking with laughter. They laugh until they're both gasping with cramps in their bellies. 

"God. I love you. I will never tire of saying it now that I can. I love you Sherlock Holmes. Have done forever now and likely will forever."

Sherlock gave an appreciative hum, "That's good, because I intend to love you at least that long, if not longer." Sherlock pulled gently at John's hip. "Come here and turn the other way. I want to cuddle you." 

John grinned and licked his lips, "Cuddle me?" 

Sherlock was smiling as he rolled his eyes at John still blushing from ear to ear, "Oh shut up. It's the most succinct word to define my urge to have physical contact with you. Now roll over."

John rolled over and Sherlock pulled him in close to be the little spoon for their cuddle.

"I love you John Watson."

"I love you Sherlock Holmes."

Together they drifted off to sleep comforted by the feel of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like their characterization is all over the place. Please let me know if I've screwed this up somehow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but important chapter. Prompts some chit chat in the following chapter which finally leads to the physical consummation of their love.

John comes awake slowly. The room is dim, lit only by the lamp they'd forgotten to switch off before bed. 

It's early in the morning, the sun is still not up yet. They've probably only been asleep a couple of hours. It's quiet save for Sherlock's even steady breathes. 

He feels as if the whole world exists right there among these four walls. With the curtains drawn as they are, he can pretend there's just them. 

The moment feels endless and perfect. 

He can feel Sherlock's body pressed up behind his, a single lanky arm loosely draped over his waist. John gently strokes Sherlock's arm and hand. He traces the veins that pop up from Sherlock's thin hands. They're big and strong and yet so delicate.

God, why did it take him so long to see what was right in front of him?

John smiles to himself as Sherlock stirs, but doesn't wake, and grips John with his hand right over John's heart. John focuses on where they're pressed together. He can feel Sherlock's heartbeat against his back where he's pressed to Sherlock's chest. 

Their legs are tangled together and John shifts his own legs slightly to feel the leg hair where their pajama trousers have ridden up. Sherlock is human and real and here wrapped around John. John can't begin to describe the feeling in his heart. It's the purest feeling of joy he's ever felt. He always imagined perfect happiness as a screaming, ecstatic thing, but this is it. 

It's a quiet, endless morning wrapped in the arms of the man he loves and who loves him. 

He knows he will never forget this moment. 

For the life of him he hopes that Sherlock has a moment like this as well to hold on to. He hopes Sherlock has countless moments like this. He hopes _they_ have countless moments like this. 

John lifts Sherlock's hand to his lips and gives it a kiss as his eyes well with happiness and spill over. He cradles Sherlock's hand back against his chest. 

He drifts off to sleep. 

He never noticed the change in Sherlock's breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it even though it's a bit short.


End file.
